


Mexico City, Mexico

by DixieDale



Series: The U.N.C.L.E. Agent's Cautionary Guide To Travel [8]
Category: The Girl from U.N.C.L.E., The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 02:38:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20418521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: So what was most memorable about that affair in Mexico?  A few gruff words of reluctant approval from their boss, Alexander Waverly.  A shared bit of amusement at Angelique's frustration and embarrassment. Napoleon, usually immune to most of the more common illnesses, came down with a severe, possibly incurable case of scarlet fever.  About the same time, Mark came down with a decided case of the blues, which threatened to prove unusually distracting to everyone.  And, as April ruefully admitted, they also gained an average of about five pounds each.





	Mexico City, Mexico

Guide Entry:

Mexico City, Mexico

=+ YES! Particular recommendations for meals and lodging  
≈+ Food - The Tasting Room, Cordon Bleu Acadamie. Continental cuisine prepared by the students at the acadamie. Selection varies by day, quality excellent. Well worth the experience and the wait to get in.  
≈+ H-C - Lodging/Food - El Hostal Sabrosa - Meals and lodging. Homey, clean. Modest in size, but friendly and accommodating. Regional Cuisine, expertly prepared. Try the excellent fresh breads and the cafe de olla, along with the guajalota, the molletes - in fact, try everything! Our only warning? You WILL gain weight! 

Yes, the four agents had made an entry for Mexico City; well, added to the several entries already in place. Yes, they had knowingly decided against making an entry for Estalarra, Oaxaca, Mexico, where the true excitement had occurred. But they truly felt they were justified.

The Story:

The team of Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin. The team of Mark Slate and April Dancer. They each cast a weary, resigned eye on the other. None of them were all that pleased to be meeting outside Alexander Waverly's office. 

Oh, not that there was any animosity between the four of them, not at all. They worked well together, enjoyed each others' company outside of work as well. It was just that they had all just gotten back from long and difficult assignments, Napoleon and Illya working together as usual, as had been Mark and April. 

They were bone-tired, jet lagged, and not ready for another outing quite yet. They had really wanted, NEEDED, some decent food, some solid sleep, some down-time before venturing out again on a mission of Waverly's devising. Sadly, it seemed that was not to be the case.

Waverly had paused in his briefing on the situation, looked around the table expectantly, finally resting impatiently on his senior agent. 

Napoleon Solo nodded knowingly, "ah, yes, the fabled Treasure of Estalarra; quite easy to see why Thrush would be interested, sir. No, I certainly agree; can't let them get their hands on it."

Waverly hummmph'd, and gave a puff on his pipe, gratified that at least ONE of his operatives knew what was what.

Later, once they were back in the office Napoleon and Illya shared, the other three asked him, "you've heard of it?", knowing none of THEM had.

He'd admitted with a superior smile, "well, actually, no. But Mr. Waverly seemed to expect ONE of us to have done so, and I hate to disappoint him." 

April rolled her eyes - yes, that was their senior agent, all right. {"One of these days that overwhelming self-confidence is going to come back and bite him."}

One long flight later and they were in Mexico City, searching out the contacts they'd been told might be of considerable value in providing some basic information about Estalarra. Frankly, Napoleon's little white lie aside, none of them had ever heard of it, and they had even had trouble locating it on any map they studied. Waverly's directions had been impatient, even clipped, and, though they wouldn't admit it to him, not overly helpful.

"In what is termed The Free and Sovereign State of Oaxaca. Somewhere to the south of Mexico City. Surely you can locate THAT!If you reach the Pacific Ocean, you know you've gone too far! Once you are there, you can make further inquires. I'm sure it will not be too taxing a chore."

Illya had remarked glumly, "I do hope our contacts can narrow it down for us. From what I have been able to determine, Oaxaca had several hundred municipalities, and this Estalarra is not one of the ones listed."

They'd made good use of their time in Mexico City, at least they thought so, though it would appear Mr. Waverly was not necessarily in agreement.

The conversation with their superior had been somewhat clipped even, at least on his end. None of his agents quite had the nerve to affect that demeanor toward HIM, of course.

"You were supposed to have a conversation with this Miss Esposa and the others, gentlemen, Miss Dancer, not settle in for the winter! Just how long is it going to take to get the information you require? I assure you Thrush is not taking this long to make their way to Estalarra and try at getting their hands on this treasure! And so far, we don't even know what that is! Snap to it, then! I will expect a report daily on your progress!"

They left Mexico City with some regret, having rather enjoyed that ferretting out of information. The fact that one of the most voluble of their sources had been a mentor at the local Cordon Bleu Acadamie had been a special bonus. 

For one thing, Michelle Louisa Esposa, the delightful product of a melding of various cultures, was a very likeable woman, full of laughter and stories and good cheer. That she was also very attractive, tall with dark hair and flashing brown eyes, was pleasing to Napoleon, of course. That Michelle obviously found Napoleon oddly amusing, was willing to let him exhibit his most charming behavior, but was totally unsusceptible to his charms pleased Illya even more. Oh, he'd been a little stiff to begin with, having gotten his fill over the years with Napoleon's flirting, but once he saw which way the wind was blowing, he'd kept getting his own look of amusement. Perhaps it was mean, but it was oddly satisfying to see the great Napoleon Solo strike out.

Mark and April found the interplay more than a little amusing themselves; it seemed that although Napoleon mostly chased women more as an afterthought anymore, Illya still didn't much like the sight, and was enjoying seeing him faced with a quarry that had no inclination to being either chased or caught. 

"Not that I don't find their being together rather adorable, it DOES add an extra layer of complication to the job, I suppose," April mused, and Mark wryly agreed. He'd told himself that over and over again since working with April, sometimes quite firmly in fact. {"An extra layer of complication, one neither of us need, and one I can't see Waverly tolerating. Not that she has ever even hinted at thinking in that direction in the first place."}. While that was a little disheartening in one respect, he knew it made sense and tried not to let it bother him.

And, frankly, it wasn't only the lovely Michelle that was so enticing, and not just for Napoleon. After the three weeks Napoleon and Illya had spent in the wilds of Alaska, and the full month Mark and April had made their way through Mongolia, being 'forced' to spend time in the Tasting Room of the Mexico City Cordon Bleu Acadamie where Michelle was mentoring was no great trial. 

The two senior agents had lived mostly off what they were able to forage in Alaska, and if it hadn't been for Illya's woodscraft, they would have gone very hungry indeed. While they had come nowhere near starving, Napoleon was quite sure he was never going to acquire a taste for lichen.

In Mongolia, there had been food, since the locals had been quite willing to share. Although the two junior agents were grateful for the kindness, they partook lightly. Very, very lightly. Mark had developed a severe aversion to mutton during his time with relatives in Scotland as a child, and while April was more accepting of it, the first time she was faced with a full sheep's-head on a platter, she had turned the most interesting shade of pale. And both agreed they preferred their milk in a form other than airag, and Mark had to admit he preferred his tea without sheep's milk OR salt.

During their very first contact, Michelle had put them in the way of a local pension where they had settled in nicely. The accommodations were small but sparkling clean; their hostess, Graciela, a close friend to Michelle, was an excellent cook and an accomplished raconteur of her own.

"Between the eggs and chorizo, the guajalota, the huevos divorciados, the pan dulce and the cafe de olla, I think I've gained three pounds since we've been here," April exclaimed. She had the feeling she'd be having an uncomfortable discussion with her bathroom scales when she returned home. While she was not terribly weight-conscious, her mod wardrobe wouldn't take much fluctuation. 

Still, as often as they ended up in places without ready access to steady meals, she knew she'd wear it off in no time, so only hesitated briefly before reaching for another piece of pan dulce and the pot of cafe de olla they'd been presented with as a mid-afternoon snack. She was pretty sure the heavy cream she added to the cafe de olla wasn't helping the situation, but the cinnamon just seemed to cry out for cream.

"Well, if you have, luv, not that I can see it," Mark replied, casting an appraising eye over her slim figure, "then Illya should have gained twice that. I think he's trying to make his way through every variation of those molletes that Graciela can put in front of him. I know he's written down several of the combinations; says next time he has us over for a meal, he might include a few of those. 

"Have to admit, I wouldn't complain if he did. In fact, there's one or two that would be a fine way to end a night of bending the elbow at the local; especially that one with all the different cheeses and tomatoes and hot peppers and everything, like what we had this morning. Think there'd be nothing like it for keeping the hangover away!" 

April had watched in amazement as Mark and Illya had made their way through two huge servings of those molletes, while she'd lingered over the various sweet breads and coffee after having finished just a small piece from the massive platters the two men had shared.

While Mark had partaken eagerly of his share of everything that was put in front of him, (much as Illya had done), Napoleon had made a point of nibbling politely, as usual, but mostly saved himself for the more Continental dishes the Acadamie had available. 

Illya had proclaimed with some disdain, "it is a point of honor with him. He's such a snob at heart! Although on his trip to check the downstairs windows last night, somehow he managed to get a smear of tomato sauce and cheese at the side of his mouth. Our hostess even remarked that the plate of leftover enchiladas, the ones he'd bypassed at dinner last night, had mysteriously vanished from the icebox overnight." 

Napoleon had serenely ignored his partner, and continued studying the map where he was tracing their proposed route to Estalarra.

April had often wondered how her partner stayed so trim, since he seemed to match Illya in the way of appetite. Of course, Illya never displayed any weight gain either, even after his most intense culinary adventures. It DID seem so unfair!

They had consoled themselves with the fact that, yes, they were having a wonderful time, but they really WERE getting what they'd come to Mexico City to obtain - information about the so-called 'Treasure of Estalarra'. Radio chatter had turned up Thrush's interest in getting their hands on that, whatever it might be, and Mr. Waverly was intent on foiling their attempt. The fact that Victor Marton, Waverly's old frenemy, was most eager for the operation to be a resounding success for Thrush was more than enough to get the Old Man involved, and for him then to get the four young agents on the trail of the 'treasure'.

That trail started with Michelle Louisa Esposa, who was originally from Estalarra. It had taken awhile to gain her confidence, but once that was accomplished, she'd been happy enough to discuss her birthplace. April had admitted ruefully after one of those involved conversations, "and I suppose it's hardly HER fault we know not much more than when we started! So many of the words, the terms she uses to describe the people, the place, the customs, even the treasure itself - she admits there just aren't any good translations."

Napoleon had been even more frustrated, having failed to understand Michelle on a variety of levels. He'd consoled himself, as well as his team mates, "well, perhaps once we get there, things will make more sense. Like hearing the description of an elephant, or an octopus, or an ostrich without ever having seen one - it really doesn't compute until that first glimpse."

The trip had been long and winding, but finally they passed through the narrow cleft between mountains to see a valley stretched out before them. And, much as with any place of magic, what they saw in that first appraising look was only the tip of the iceberg to what was there.

They made their way down to the buildings below, and there they came upon a stumbling block. Oh, the people were friendly enough, all smiles and nods of welcome, but English didn't work; Spanish didn't get them much farther, nor did French, Russian, or much else. Finally resorting pretty much to sign language and gestures, they were directed to an imposing residence at the center of the town. 

Getting out of their jeep and stretching, wondering if indeed their efforts at being understood had actually resulted in what they were seeking. Lodging, first, then food, then possibly someone who could give them information on any other strangers in town. They knew better than to go around asking "and just where is the treasure kept, and can we get a good look?". They might be tired and not thinking too clearly, but they weren't THAT benumbed.

Well, it probably wasn't a hotel, not as they knew it, but hospitality was offered by the regal woman who'd been summoned when they arrived at the door. They were settled into rooms, one each, their repeated suggestions that they could share, at least two and two, being calmly but firmly dismissed with shake of the head and some odd hand gesture - hand held palm down, shaken rapidly side to side.

They'd rested, after partaking of a cool shower, communicating by their devices only, and afterwards were relieved to be taken to a small dining room to be rejoined with their teammates. 

"Well, it's all very charming, but I've been unable to get any farther than when we arrived," Napoleon admitted. "Anyone else have any luck?"

Illya and Mark ruefully shook their heads, but April offered a spritely "perhaps. Our hostess let me know there is to be an event later this evening, I think a celebration of some sort, or maybe just a dance, but it is to take place here, and we are invited - in fact, expected to attend. It would appear our regular clothes won't do, so appropriate ones will be brought to us after dinner. Michelle mentioned that, remember, that the right clothing, hair, makeup, all that, is vital to being accepted in the community, so I suppose we should go along. It seems absolutely everyone will be there, and I would suppose that would mean any little Thrushies in the vicinity also."

Realizing they really had no choice, not if they intended to be out and about and hopefully picking up some information, maybe spot their competition, they shrugged, ate their excellent dinner, and returned to their rooms to await whatever 'appropriate dress' might be. 

Napoleon was only hoping it was something he'd not be TOO uncomfortable with. He still remembered that episode with the toga and laurel wreath, and absolutely REFUSED to remember the misadventure with that kilt! He'd mistakenly thought that large metal pin was an optional decoration, not a true necessity.

He wasn't displeased at all when the smiling duo brought him the black and silver outfit. It wasn't his usual style, of course, but it was well-fitting, well-made, and really rather dashing. He'd thought to leave behind the broadbrimmed hat with the silver decorations at the brim, but the quick frowns of disapproval had him changing his mind. 

{"Ah well, when in Rome. At least Illya will be pleased - basic black, though he might think the silver a little gaudy. At least I suppose he will be something much the same."}

Mark had looked up from the book he'd taken from the bookcase and was trying to decipher, with a decided lack of success, to see the trio entering with a colorful outfit and what appeared to be an attache case. He'd smiled in appreciation at the bright color, though his attempts to convince them they had the wrong room had been shrugged aside. Eventually he'd given in, and even watched in some fascination as they worked their magic.

April had been thrilled with her outfit, though ruefully realizing the color promised to fight energetically with her hair. However, the understanding smiles from her trio of attendants reassured her, along with their producing a headpiece that, as one of them illustrated with her fingers, would hide her hair entirely. When they were finished, she'd turned toward the mirror and an exclamation of utter delight brought smiles to the three who had assisted her with her costume.

Illya had taken one look at his proposed outfit and thought to refuse, {"categorically, totally, emphatically!"}, but then the stray thought of his partner, curiosity of what he might see in Napoleon's eyes when he caught sight of Illya, that changed his mind. The attendants were gently coaxing, smiling in encouragement, as they did their work, and Illya himself had a smile on his face when he beheld the final results in the mirror. {"And I doubt any of the Thrush agents will recognize me, and that HAS started becoming a problem."}

They'd each been escorted down to the ballroom separately, so it wasn't til they were already in among the growing crowd that they even had a chance to see each other. In fact, they'd been in place for quite some time before the first real contact was made.

Mark and Illya had looked at each other several times out of the corner of their eye, recognition only slowly dawning. Similar thoughts had passed through their minds within the past half hour, seeing the grace of movement, the attractiveness not just of face but of all that lay within as well as without. The cosmetics, so carefully and lovingly applied by the douashas assigned to each of them, enhanced and concealed all at the same time, and the elaborate costumes so unfamiliar to their eyes performed much the same function. Now, both a little bewildered, but with a rich undercurrent of amusement, they wondered how long it would be before their own partners spotted them in their elegant sweeping dresses and elaborate headdresses.

Napoleon was standing on the sidelines, chatting with this one or that, gracing one lovely after the other with his famous smile. He hadn't asked anyone to dance yet, wasn't sure he would. It looked simple enough, but he knew a misstep would be more than awkward. 

And the language was an issue; while perhaps some here spoke English, they hadn't chosen to make themselves known to him, and the Spanish was of a sort far from what he had been taught, with nuances and idioms totally beyond him. There was just enough in common to be able to understand and express the most simple of things, and while he could be charming in almost situation, not knowing for sure if he was telling a lady that she was lovely or looked very much like her hound was a little discouraging. 

No, that wasn't hyperbole. He'd made just that error within minutes of their arrival, first causing their hostess, who just happened to HAVE her pet dog, a huge shaggy wolfhound, at her side, to glare at him furiously, til a young man had whispered in her ear and that glare had turned to an amused smile, and an easily interpreted suggestion of "fewer words of which you do not know the meaning, perhaps, and just more smiles, with which you speak much better?"

So, he was being a little more cautious than usual. Never mind all the rest, this was a culture he was very unfamiliar with, and he had no intention of inadvertently courting another involuntary-engagement situation, or even worse. Illya had warned him what would happen the next time, and the look in the Russian's eyes had made it clear he hadn't been joking.

And there was the obvious local familiarity with hand-weapons to be considered. The weaponry interspersed so freely with the less-hazardous displays on the walls were equally matched by the weaponry worn by many here tonight. There were knives, both daggers and stilettos, a few swords, as well as some very pretty fans that April had warned during dinner were a type of weapon as well. 

Of course, his eyes kept drifting to the less-obvious but still dangerous 'weaponry' worn by many of the guests also. Well, lace and shimmering silks and satins and brocades and sparkling jewels and expertly-applied cosmetics and perfumes were weapons of a sort; he knew that better than most.

April swayed through the dancers, looking her fill at all the lovely dresses and accompanying mantillas and high combs and molded lace and other headdresses. If she'd had to choose one to take home with her, she would have had a difficult time of it. They were all beautiful, the colors and materials so well-matched, and even though some were in colors she'd not usually wear, she wouldn't have hesitated at any of them. 

Well, what she was wearing was quite lovely, after all, the creamy lace, some soft and flowing, some stiffened to flare and hold its shape, all pairing so well with the soft shades of rose of the remainder of the dress. She wouldn't ever have thought rose to be her color, not with her hair, but since the elaborate headdress she was wearing, one made of starched and pleated lace, covered every trace of the vibrant auburn, there was only harmony, not discord. She had looked in the mirror in her room, and again in the huge side mirrors in this room and had to admit, she was quite pleased with the final effect. Yes, she was tempted to buy one of the outfits to take home with her, perhaps for her annual Halloween party. 

A twinge of uneasiness struck at that thought. {"Perhaps that would be disrespectful, though. But where ever else would I wear it? I know the women here wear these for celebration and for church, but I can imagine the reaction if I walked into New York Cathedral or Winston Presbyterian wearing this, no matter how beautiful it is."} 

A vision of herself in the beautiful dress, sipping tea {"or perhaps a mimosa? Some of the Clan's excellent bourbon?"} in her living room, came to her and stayed in the back of her mind. {"If I can wear those green satin lounging pajamas with the brocade bands for relaxing in the privacy of my own flat, why not this? Perhaps not the headdress, but the rest? I might enjoy that quite well."}

She determined that, if time permitted, she'd see what the local shops offered, and if her budget could stand the strain. Not in rose, not without the headdress, but surely there would be colors that would suit.

She watched Napoleon as he watched the dancers, those in conversation around the edges. No, not all the dancers, she noted. He seemed to have little time to spare for the ones dressed in the black trousers with the white billowing-sleeved shirts and the black broadbrimmed hats with silver conchos adorning the base, the same as he was wearing, concentrating on those in the luscious and elaborate dresses. 

She sighed in resignation. That was just so Napoleon! They were supposed to be observing EVERYONE, looking for any of the six Thrush operatives they'd been told to locate and observe - all six of those were men, at least according to the limited information they had.

She just hoped Napoleon kept his libido well under control. His usual behavior might not go over so well here. Or, she admitted, it MIGHT, but might also lead him into situations they really weren't prepared to deal with. None of them had any real background for this place, what might precipitate a wedding. Or a public stoning or a funeral, for that matter. While KNOWING all that might be quite interesting, she had no real desire for a practical demonstration.

She looked around for Illya, for Mark, but couldn't see them at the moment. Well, the dancers did block the view a great deal of the time, and the large potted palms spotted here and there provided many a place for someone to linger unseen.

Somehow she was sure Mr. Waverly was wrong. This place had its own ways and was certainly not someplace the Old Man would smile on. {"For one thing, I don't think they serve tea, and I haven't seen even a cigarette, much less a pipe."} But, it didn't seem to be a place that would be all that welcoming to Thrush. She was sure of that, though she wasn't sure how she could be so sure. Perhaps it was that her attendants had touched her charm bracelet and nodded to each other in appreciation, leaving it in place while they dressed her in the unfamiliar garb. And the bracelet had actually hummed at them, seemingly in delight!

Luwetta approached her from the side. "You look quite beautiful; that style becomes you," their hostess told her with a kind smile, her words simple, but quite intelligible, enough April wondered how much of the earlier confusion had been deliberate, a ruse to feel out the newcomers. "Have you danced yet? The patterns are easy ones, at least for now, and our people quite forgiving of a beginner's uncertainty. Later the more complex dances will be played and danced, but only the very experienced will partake of those. Most will gather around to watch.

"The escarpments are a particularly good place to be when that starts," she said, motioning to the iron-railed extension encircling the room a full story above. "There are staircases at each corner of the room, concealed by those pillars. From above, the colors of the skirts as they whirl around form the most beautiful patterns. It's a little like watching petals dancing on the breeze, or perhaps butterflies in a meadow. There will be a three-note chime when that starts, enough to give you time to make your way there."

April agreed it sounded quite beautiful, and made up her mind to listen for that chime. In the meantime, she watched, and found her eyes drifting toward one corner, again and again, and she smiled to herself as she realized she had found her partner. After that, having had her horizons expanded, so to speak, she looked some more and there, near the fountain at one end, she finally located Illya.

She'd thought to move in Mark's direction, but was stopped by a masculine voice obviously asking her a question, gesturing so she would have no difficulty understanding she was being asked to dance. 

April accepted, though with some hesitation, finding that Luwetta had been quite right. The pattern was easy to pick up, and her partner quite adept at leading her through it. She received a smile and a gracious bow at the end, to which she countered by her own smile and equally-gracious nod of her head, very carefully though, trying to counter-balance the headdress at the same time. She could see why those nods she'd observed earlier were so restrained, seemingly gauged to the hair - it would be quite easy to have an unexpected wardrobe malfunction if you were overly enthusiastic.

She ended up close to the senior agent, and took the opportunity to ask, "have you seen anything of the birdies, Napoleon? I haven't. This just doesn't seem their sort of place, you know?"

Napoleon smiled down at her appreciatively, noting how well the local dress suited her. "No, not so much as a . . ." He tensed, looking toward the entrance. "Well, not til now. Look who just showed up."

April glanced over and froze.

"Angelique? We didn't know she was going to be here, did we? What on earth is she wearing?" 

It was obvious that, just as April had been given help with selecting a dress for the evening, so had the Thrush agent, but just as obviously, the level of 'help', perhaps the sense of humor of the helper, had differed. While the UNCLE agent couldn't honestly say that outfit was ugly - the materials were rich and lusterous, and of high-quality, the dress very well made - it certainly made for a forbidding, even sinister appearance.

Napoleon's lips had gone dry, and he moistened them with an oddly nervous tongue. He was also taken aback with the impression the Thrush agent made, though not in the manner he once would have been. Actually, his mind jumped to just how shockingly appropriate her dress seemed to be, knowing who and what she was. For as Angelique made her smiling way towards him, those designs on her silvery dress seemed to move, the flowers morphing in and out of a different reality, and the spurs of the columbines took on the appearance of crawling spiders. 

April whispered, "I wonder if she took a good look in the mirror? Or perhaps the designs aren't quite so apparent that close up. Do you see, Napoleon? Spiders, all sizes, clinging to an overall web. And aren't those scorpions at the bottom? And that wavy pattern spaced around from the hem to the waist - those ARE cobras, aren't they?"

Napoleon cleared his throat as Angelique got closer. "Ah, yes, I believe so; well, snakes of some variety anyway. And that stylized tulip design on the side panels. Is it my imagination or does it look a lot like a skull when she turns to the side?"

"I do believe you're right," April said, plastering a smile on her face as the blonde Frenchwoman came within speaking distance. 

Angelique had a smile on her face that implied she was queen of the ball and having a delightful time being so. Well, that wasn't really the case, considering the dress that had seemed so beautiful when it had been presented to her now seemed just a little 'off' somehow, though she couldn't quite put her finger on the problem. When she'd looked in the mirror in her suite, it had certainly SEEMED to be everything she could have wanted. Even the makeup her personal attendants had so skillfully applied now seemed to render her preferred winsome look to something more sinister, even predatory. And the beauty patch they had placed so carefully at the corner of her mouth? It itched! As if it were trying to crawl away!!

And as for having a delightful time, well, no. She had expected to meet her fellow Thrush agents here, get the job done, and be off for her rendezvous with her mother and cousin in Rio, but she'd arrived to find a message that the idiot men had been unavoidably detained - something about a bridge that had been washed away or some such thing. 

So here she was, kicking up her heels waiting for the fools. They could hardly expect her to make off with the so-called 'Treasure of Estallara' all by herself! She was a seductress, not someone talented in the opening of sealed vaults, nor a weight-lifter to carry away that treasure, should it prove as heavy as those old records had hinted it should be.

Well, at least she had been made welcome; the owner or manager or whatever the woman was, had been all smiles, and had managed to tell her of this event. Had even sent this dress and cosmetics, and maids to help her get ready. Well, if she was stuck here, unable to proceed with the job, she might as well enjoy herself as best as possible.

When she'd spotted Napoleon Solo across the room, she'd thought the evening might prove somewhat amusing; perhaps giving her a chance to pull him back into her web, from which he'd so unexpectedly torn himself free in that disaster at Cooperstown. 

April Dancer being present had been a bit of a surprise; she hadn't come into contact with the redhead since the young woman had made her abrupt escape from Angelique's sensuous little trap in New York. Seeing them standing side by side was NOT a happy thing. It wouldn't be easy to work her wiles on either of them with the other present. 

{"AND, where those two are, I would expect to find their ever-so-annoying partners. Interfering nuisances, the pair of them!"} she'd glowered to herself. Well, mostly Kuryakin, but she sensed the Englishman, Mark Slate, would be equally annoying, given the opportunity. There was a connection there, just as there was between Solo and Kuryakin, something she'd rarely glimpsed before. Certainly none of the Thrush agents she'd been temporarily partnered with had evoked that sort of a reaction from her when THEY'D been targeted. 

Weakness, that's what it was, and she despised weakness. Almost as much as she despised anyone setting themselves up against her and whatever she had decided she wanted, no matter how temporarily. However, taking a careful look around, Angelique didn't see either of the blond men, and wondered if there had been a change in the partnership rolls at UNCLE New York.

{"Now, that could be promising! They won't be as familiar with each other's habits and routines as Kuryakin or Slate would be; I might just be able to take advantage of that!"}

She approached the two standing side by side, and adjusted the smile on her face to be one of warmth and gentle sensuality, unabashed at the rather crisp and obviously insincere smiles she got in return.

A few words, then "and you are here together? Your 'shadows' did not accompany you?" she purred. 

Napoleon felt a great deal of relief that Angelique hadn't spotted Mark or Illya; that might give them a decided advantage. Of course, he hadn't spotted the two either, so perhaps they were up in the shadows of that encircling catwalk or whatever it was supposed to be.

April just murmurred something inconsequential. If Angelique hadn't spotted their partners, that was all to the good. She was finding it more than a little amusing that Napoleon hadn't either, and it was quite obvious that he hadn't.

Well, she had to admit she hadn't been able to recognize Illya, not at first. But once she'd locked in on her partner a few minutes ago, it had been much easier. 

The surprising thing was just how quickly, how easily she'd spotted Mark. Almost as surprising as how strikingly attractive he was, blond hair covered in that turquoise outfit he was wearing. Whoever had applied the makeup had done an outstanding job, his brows slightly darkened, his blue eyes with those long lashes now smoldering, but still with that special touch of mischief that was solely his own, his lips outlined and filled with exactly the right shade of lip rouge. She had been amused to see Napoleon's eyes linger on him more than once. Well, amused, then somehow, not quite so amused, a tinge of possessiveness making amusement seem not quite the thing. {"MY partner, Napoleon, don't forget that!"}

Watching Mark dance with the taller man looking down at him with such appreciation was an eye-opener, and April found herself just a little jealous. While that shouldn't have been surprising, since the tall silver-haired man was quite attractive, she WAS surprised to find she wasn't so much jealous of Mark for being in the older man's arms, but rather jealous of that someone guiding her partner around the dance floor.

{"Perhaps I should have asked Lowetta if they had a trouser outfit that would fit me, and one of those hats with the conchos! I wonder how I would look in one of those? Of course, I've also seen couples on the floor, both in dresses, so maybe I might have a chance before the evening is over. I wonder how Mark would react if I asked him to dance."}. Now there was a thought.

She stood and chatted with Angelique and Napoleon, feeling some gratification in the increasingly impatient vibes Napoleon was giving off. They were both relieved when the Thrush agent excused herself with a rather biting and frustrated farewell and they were left on their own.

"I believe I'm going to mingle, April. Signal me if you see anything unusual," Napoleon said, an odd note in his voice, his eyes now on a slender figure in scarlet. Not waiting for an answer, the senior agent now made his way purposefully away around the room, coming to a halt in front of the lovely with the pretty blue eyes. 

{"Ah, I see he finally spotted Illya,"} April thought with some amusement, seeing Napoleon gather the seemingly-shy 'lady' into his arms to venture the dance that wasn't so very different from a waltz. {"I'm glad Angelique left, for a number of reasons. Now, to see if Mark would want to try something of the same."}. 

Noting again that there were trouser-clad individuals dancing with the same, and also elegant dresses brushing close against equally elegant dresses in the dance, she made her way toward her partner.

"My dance, I believe, unless you prefer another partner?" she asked with a teasing note to her voice. 

Blue eyes looked into hers with a mixture of amusement and trepidation. "Do you think that wise? I saw Angelique here a few minutes ago."

"Yes, well, I believe she left. And in any case, that doesn't seem to be stopping our friends," she laughed, glancing over to where the black-clad Napoleon was expertly steering an elegant figure in scarlet around the room.

"True," Mark admitted, with a grin. "Well, if you're willing, I am. At least the fashion doesn't seem to be for high heels. Illya looks surprisingly comfortable, don't you think? And I never thought scarlet would be his color, but it does remarkably well, especially with his hair hidden away. Alright, so who leads?"

"You're taller and more accustomed to it - you lead, but watch my, our skirts. I've never tried this before, and I think there are more yards of material in our dresses than in my entire wardrobe in New York."

They whirled, carefully, in time to the music, at one turn coming within speaking distance of their fellow agents. Napoleon had glanced up, then his eyes widened as he recognized Mark in the instant before the junior agents had whirled in the other direction.

"Close your mouth, Napoleon; you look like a trout," Illya chided him with an amused smile. 

"I probably do. I shouldn't be surprised, not after I've seen you rigged out like that. I just never realized quite how good Mark would look in that color. I've seen April wear it, of course, but . . . OUCH! What was that for??!" Napoleon protested as the small blond he was dancing with not only stepped crushingly on his toes, but pinched his upper arm in sharp punishment for that comment.

"Keep your eyes where they belong, Napoleon, and that is on me. I may have to put up with you lingering over the ladies, but I do have my limits," came out as a low growl. 

Napoleon turned his eyes back to those blue ones staring at him in such an arch manner. "Oh, I know where my eyes belong, and I have no trouble keeping them there, not when the view is so pleasant. But it would be rude not to show SOME appreciation for the effort Mark is making, you know," he replied smoothly, whirling Illya around one more time as the music came to an end. This time he didn't wince when his toes were trod upon, knowing he'd openly courted the rebuke.

The morning came and with it the advent of six weary, dusty and ill-tempered men in a jeep that had not fared the trip well at all. Angelique glared at them from the front veranda of the residence.

"Well, it certainly took you long enough!" She was still deriding them when Lowetta appeared, genially hospitable as always. The men were shown to rooms, allowed to wash up and change, then provided with a meal. 

Angelique wasn't happy to have nothing positive to report. Well, she certainly didn't consider the presence of the four UNCLE agents to be a positive.

Breakfast was light and lovely, at least it was for April, who was relishing the cafe de olla and sweet bread flavored with citrus with fragrant slices of a green fruit waiting for her to enjoy. Napoleon had smiled graciously, indicating he'd be fine with just the fruit and coffee, patting his waistline as an explanation.

Mark had smiled graciously as well, but the disappointment was evident in his eyes, and Illya's whole face was one of chagrin. The waiter had laughed, though kindly, and patted him on the shoulder reassuringly, and sure enough, another waiter was at the door, large platter of wonderful smelling concoctions they didn't yet know the name of, but would make sure to find out by the time the meal was done. Whatever those bundles of meat and vegetables, interladen with creamy cheese, drowning in a pool of rich fragrant sauce were, they were well worth adding to the repertoire of recipes Illya was intent on bringing back to New York with him.

"Come on, April-luv," Mark coaxed, "just a piece? You won't regret it, I promise," as he took a second helping from the platter for himself, then cutting a piece the size of a deck of cards for her.

"Mark . . . ". She looked at the sheer look of bliss in Illya's eyes, the almost intoxicated look of contentment in Mark's, and decided she could afford at least a tiny morsel. No, she didn't regret it, not when the flavors exploded on her tongue, rich and spicy and satisfying. Though how those two were making their way through the whole platter, she just couldn't imagine. Napoleon had not indulged, though he kept swallowing as if his mouth was watering convulsively. {"Always the showman,"} she thought with amusement. {"Oh, well, he's not harming anyone except himself, I suppose."}

They had finished breakfast, the dishes cleared and were sipping at their coffee when Luwetta entered the room. She had nodded, smiled, and took a seat next to April, reaching out her hand to gently trace the charm bracelet April was wearing. Again April felt that slight hum of approval tingle through her wrist.

Then, in perfect, if slightly accented English, Luwette suggested. "Now, you will tell me why you are here, and why the tarantula woman and her male spiders are here as well, yes? That you are protectors and they are destroyers, that is easy to see. But clearer sight is needed, and you will enlighten me, please."

The trip through the corridors illuminated many lovely objects, easily characterized as treasures, but all that paled in comparison to what they saw when Luwetta instructed the two attendants to throw open those barred doors.

April gasped, and they slowly made their way around the long room. Tapestries, candlesticks of gold, yes, those had to be quite valuable. But the true sight worth seeing? The huge murals covering the walls, wonderfully detailed, telling the story of Estalarra from the very beginning to now. And in the center? A pool with a gently bubbling natural fountain, in the center of which stood a statue, male or female it was not so easy to determine, since it had characteristics of each.

Luwetta had let them look their fill, answering questions when asked, at least sometimes; sometimes giving them a kind smile but a firm shake of her head, indicating they'd get no answer. 

Finally making their way to the pool, looking into what seemed to be the bottomless depths, then up at the statue, they sat at the stone benches surrounding the golden enigma. Golden, til the light shifted somehow, and the statue was palest ivory. A few minutes on, and the color was more of the heavily-creamed cafe de olla they'd been enjoying, then later, a reddish bronze, only to be followed by continually deepening tones, til the features looking at them so calmly were of the richest ebony. 

They had been fascinated, watching the changes, then turned to Luwetta to ask . . . Their questions were lost in their wonder at their hostess, her features matching the statue's ebony now, then slowly shifting to the golden tones they'd become familiar with. 

"You say they wish to steal our treasure, the treasure of Estalarra. Many have wished to do so. Few have ever discovered what the treasure truly is, thinking it comprised only of the tapestries and a few gold cups and candelabra and trays and such. The history of Estalarra is our treasure; that which our history gives to us is our treasure. Watch," and she waved her hand at the walls, and a mist came to cover the murals, and the walls seemed to be of cold stone.

"Watch," and she nodded at the fountain, and in its stead was a murky pool, complete with foul smelling bubbles of slime and assorted frogs. A dead tree rose from the center, replacing the statue.

The agents looked at each other, silently asking each other if THEY'D spotted any logical way that could have happened. There had been no hum of machinery, no cranking of gears, no reflection as from mirrors or photographic or film equipment.

Luwetta laughed gently at their befuddlement. "Estalarra is our treasure. We protect Estalarra, as we have been taught, and Estalarra pours out blessing after blessing upon us. Oh, our life here is not perfect; we do not claim it to be so. Accidents can befall anyone, and sickness visits us as it does anyone else. But we are given the freedom to live our lives as we see fit, to be who and what we are. We share what we have with each other, and none go hungry or unclothed or lack a place of shelter. We live peacefully with each other, for the most part, and there is judging for those who seek to disturb that peace."

Napoleon looked around the vast area as the mists disappeared and the murals reappeared; as the foul pool became as clean and sparkling as it had before; as the dead tree became a serenely smiling being looking down on them with wry amusement.

He cleared his throat. "Ah, do you tell EVERYONE what you just told us?"

"No, of course not. Most would not believe, not understand. Most, in fact, would never be allowed through those doors; there are protections there, you see. But the bracelet April wears tells us you are not those who would seek to destroy, either by hammer and ax or by loose tongues. And perhaps, if YOU understand, perhaps you can assist in ridding us of the tarantula woman and her male colleagues. We dislike the idea of killing them, and their disappearance would probably only draw others of their kind searching for the reason they did not return."

April remembered stories she'd heard from her O'Donnell cousins, thought of the possibilities and she chuckled. "I've heard the best way to stop someone from looking for something is to let them find it. I have an idea."

Angelique was petulant. It was taking far too long to figure out this so-called treasure! If they didn't get some results soon, her female relatives would have already left Rio well before she was able to join them.

But then, a breakthrough! One of the men came to her, excited because he had overheard two of the youngest waiters talking about their next duties. "Tomorrow, as far as I could tell. They go off having to serve here at this place to serving at what they called 'the treasure house'. They're not much more than kids! How hard could it be to follow them??"

Yes, a breakthrough, and Angelique quickly gathered the others and made plans. She hated trusting these imbeciles with the job of following the two, finding out where that 'treasure house' was, how it could be accessed. But SOMEONE had to keep an eye on the UNCLE agents! Selecting her most intelligent compatriot, though to her mind that was giving him a huge compliment, mostly undeserved, she made plans to keep their four rivals well occupied during the morning hours.

And so, in the morning, Angelique calmly made her way into the small room where Napoleon and the others were breakfasting, Miles close at her side. Happily it had not proved too difficult; there had only been one or two easily-overcome efforts on the part of the others to break up the happy little interlude, one minor spat when she flirted with Napoleon and, wonder of wonders, he actually responded the way he used to. The spat occurred when April Dancer, not Illya Kuryakin, went into a snit at that, and showed her bitchy side.

When the vibration came from her communication device, unheard but certainly felt by her sensitive skin, she knew it had been a success. FINALLY!

Richard had been overwhelmingly smug, enough she really wanted to slap him, but settled for purring her sweetest at the man. Anyone who really knew her knew Richard was now living on borrowed time, but none of the men who'd been sent to 'assist' her knew her very well at all. Well, NO man knew her very well; she made a point of that.

"A golden chalice! A foot tall, rubies the size of my thumb! Ugly damned thing, but probably worth a small fortune. And there's maybe five or six other pieces, all in front of this even uglier statue of a combination crocodile and gorilla from the looks of it! Can you imagine??!"

"You looked everywhere, and that is all? We do not want to make our move and find we have omitted something."

"Well, there's this chest. It's about a foot long, the same deep, but we couldn't figure out how to open it. But it's right at the base of that statue, so it's probably important!"

"Very well, we go tonight, take all you've described, including the chest. I think I have just the way to keep our UNCLE friends occupied," she smiled maliciously. Yes, a quiet, ever so concerned word with the woman in charge here, and there would be guards aplenty watching those four. She wasn't quite sure what she would say, not quite yet. She didn't know their customs and didn't really want to start a riot. Still, THRUSH would be appreciative if she managed to rid them of Napoleon Solo and his friends, and she just wasn't as fond of the dapper senior agent as she once had been. Well, she was not cut out to play second fiddle, either to that irritating Russian OR the annoying Miss Dancer.

It went like clockwork, sternly frowning guards patrolling the hallway where Napoleon and the others were housed. Angelique and her associates slipped out, unseen, and headed to that treasure house. Would you believe the fools didn't even have a guard on duty, counted just on that impressive looking padlock on the door??

They were efficient and were on their way within an hour, each eagerly anticipating the pats of approval, perhaps an addition into their pay envelope. Angelique was just as eagerly anticipating her mini-vacation in Rio, and thinking of what lovely way she could make Richard pay for his insolence.

They'd made their report to Mr. Waverly. He was gruffly approving of their results, at least somewhat. At least Victor Marton hadn't been able to get his hands on that elusive 'treasure', and the Thrush agents had been thwarted and unlikely to make another attempt. In fact, from the pinched look on Marton's face when Waverly had set up that teleconference, he wasn't pleased at all.

"Oh, while nothing is one hundred percent, I do believe they found it an unrewarding experience, sir. And the locals seem quite capable of making sure Mr. Marton never lays eyes on the treasure. They were quite adept at sending Thrush off with a chest full of fake jewels, some fancied up plateware, and other such items. I gather Thrush Central was less than amused."

"Hmmm, yes, that was my impression. Although I do believe Victor Marton is in agreement with his agents' interpretation, that the citizenry of Estalarra have been guarding a worthless pile of rubbish, calling it treasure either out of ignorance or self-delusion. Hopefully he will continue to think in those terms.

"It seems you were equally unsucessful at locating the real Treasure of Estalarra, Mr. Solo. Not even a clue as to where, or even what it might be. You found no more than they did, it would appear."

"No, sir, we didn't, and I would strongly advise against making any further attempts. Though, to be honest, from what little we have been able to ascertain, it is not the sort of thing that would prove to be of much benefit to Thrush OR UNCLE, even if it were possible to spirit it away. In fact, 'spirit' might be a very apt term. I, personally, am inclined to think it might be just that, a 'spiritual' treasure, more of a mind-set, if you know what I mean. Though I may be wrong, still I don't see any benefit to our trying to find it and get a better look in order to appraise its real value."

Waverly huffed indignantly. "I would like to remind you that we are not in the business of looting native treasures, Mr. Solo. We prefer to PREVENT such activity whenever possible, if you remember."

"No, sir, of course we would never make such an attempt. No, quite beneath us, of course."

Waverly coughed, then added, "of course, it would be most enlightening to know just what that treasure consists of. Regrettable that you weren't able to learn more, simply for the sake of, well, KNOWING."

"Yes, sir, I agree, of course."

The others leaned back in their chairs, sharing knowing smiles, glad it was the senior agent making that call, not them. They were content to nibble at the fruit and pastries that had been brought to them, to sip at the mildly-intoxicating beverage, and enjoy the lingering sunlight casting its golden beams into the room.

Mark leaned toward the other two, "hopefully, Waverly won't ask for too many details. I know MY report is going to be very discreetly annotated, and I trust the same will be for you as well," giving them a mock warning glance.

"I believe you can be assured of that, Mark," Illya had nodded gravely. "What happens in Estalarra must remain in Estalarra."

"Well, I wouldn't go THAT far," April protested. "I for one have my eye on the most beautiful dress, but this one in a lovely shade of green. I'd be happy to add something for each of you into my luggage, perhaps something in turquoise or scarlet? Or really, anything you fancy. I know Napoleon has commissioned a suit of clothes like those he wore at the dance. I believe that was your idea, Illya?"

She'd been teasing, and was slightly surprised by the flicker of interest in both sets of blue eyes at her offer, so casually made. 

{"I wonder if two extra outfits will appear in my room before we leave. Headdresses included, of course, though perhaps a cunningly-made cloche and net cocktail hat might substitute for other occasions."}

Sadly, in her opinion, that didn't happen, and even her green dress didn't materialize from alterations in time to be packed. 

"Well, April-luv, it's probably for the best. First, I'm not sure we could have fit it in the car; you know the four of us and the bare minimums barely can squeeze in, and that dress is . . . Well, it sounds lovely and all, but as you said, more fabric than in the entire rest of your wardrobe."

He very carefully didn't allude to his and Illya's costumes.

So, in the end, only Napoleon's elegant and tight-fitting black and silver costume was tucked into the only spare space in the jeep, the place immediately under April's feet. "I hope I don't crush the hat," she teased, knowing quite well the package wasn't big enough for THAT, only to get a slightly embarrassed smile from the senior agent

"Oh, I didn't get the hat; I couldn't imagine wearing it, you know. If I decide I need one, I can always have one made in New York, but without the silver conchos."

"You really need to commission one, Napoleon, WITH the conchos. I can think of one or two occasions where it would be quite appropriate, even mandatory," Illya murmured in a deadpan voice, but with a sly look that brought a blush to Solo's face, and raised eyebrows and a curious look from both Mark and April.

On the way home they discussed how much they should include in the Guide. In the end, they decided a strong plug for the Cordon Bleu Acadamie in Mexico City was in order, along with the small hostel run by the charming Graciela. The food alone was worth the trip! As for Estalarra? Well, few would find their way there, and the local populace were more than capable of dealing with those who might. 

"And it isn't as if they are interested in attracting the tourist trade, or the curiosity seekers. I would suggest we leave Estalarra out of the Guide entirely," April had suggested, and they were in solid agreement.

And if Mr. Waverly had moments of wondering exactly what HAD transpired in that far-away place, knowing quite well how to read between the lines of a highly-imaginative report, he had the wisdom not to pursue the matter.

When the packages arrived from Mexico City, she laughed out loud, knowing Luwetta had kept her promise. Her green dress, complete with a lovely matching turban with a tall feathered and bejeweled clip that could be attached for added elegance, was gorgeous and fit her to a fine note; the wider skirt was even detachable, over a much more slender one appropriate to a more conventional, if still elegant, venue.

The package addressed to Mark, one quite a bit smaller than the other two, she didn't open, of course, OR the one addressed to Illya, that one comparable to the size of the one addressed to her. But the fact that the note to Mark was written in turquoise ink, while the one to Illya was written in deepest scarlet? She thought that just might present a clue. 

Perhaps, sometime, she'd get the nerve to ask. Or, perhaps, they'd get the nerve to show her without her asking. She had a feeling Napoleon was going to get an eyeful, at the very least!

As did she, when Mark appeared for their next dinner at Venara's in that utterly gorgeous turquoise jacket with the tracing of embroidery in a slightly deeper shade, cut in the Carnaby style that Mark enjoyed so, along with a loose tie in that darker shade. Yes, just as she'd mentioned to Luwetta, that color really did bring out the twinkle in his blue eyes! He'd given her a shy grin, accused her of conspiring with their hostess, and she'd laughed and admitted "maybe just a little, Mark. But you just wait til you see the dress she sent me! And Illya got a package of his own!"

In another part of town, music played on the record player, and a couple danced the night away. And Napoleon Solo, ever so dashing in that black and silver costume, with dry mouth and fevered eyes was promising a petite blond anything under the sun, including ordering that damned black hat with the conchos, in appreciation for said blond wearing that scarlet dress and turban with the upsweep of scarlet feathers attached to that ruby and diamond clip. 

"Alright, I'll order the hat. But you are NOT wearing that to April's Halloween party! Maybe something else, something similar, if you dare, but not that one. And not in scarlet! I'm the only one who's ever to see you in scarlet ever again! Understand??!"

A shy but triumphant smile crossed Illya's face. "Very well, but you will order the hat tomorrow, yes? And you will not say one more word about how well Mark looked in turquoise."

"Yes, tomorrow the hat. Yes, I promise not to say another word about Mark," Napoleon whispered, as the music played on. For tonight, he had his mind on something other than hats. Well, anyone would understand that. After all, he obviously had a bad, probably incurable case of 'scarlet fever'.


End file.
